"In the quiet after pain, love arrives wrapped in tiny heartbeats, proof that even the fiercest storms give birth to light."
The breeze rolled in from the sea, salty and warm, brushing over my skin as I sat back in the rocking chair on our balcony. My hands rested on the curve of my belly, round, firm, and impossibly alive. I could feel them inside me, the tiny kicks, the gentle flutters, and our little sparks.
I closed my eyes for a moment, soaking in the quiet. Birds trilled lazily above, waves whispered below, and from inside the house came the unmistakable scent of meat and potatoes. My lips curled into a smile, the corners of my eyes crinkling. Spark. He was cooking again, his way of nesting, he claimed. But I knew the truth: he could not stand the thought of me craving anything and not having it in my hands within moments. He was trying too hard, in the sweetest way. I chuckled, the sound rumbling gently from my chest.
